Page 18 of His Innocent Unwrapped In Iceland

This was madness, but she wasn’t going to stop.

He was right. She’d bought that nightgown for a reason and it hadn’t been Gianni she’d been thinking of when she’d bought it. Not that she’d been thinking of Orion specifically, but she’d been thinking of a man. A man who’d take alotof pleasure at seeing her in it and how much that would please her too.

She moved away and allowed the gown to slide down her body and pool at her feet. Then she stepped out of the fabric, wearing only a white lace bra, knickers, stockings and heels. She wasn’t quite brave enough to undress while facing him, so she kept her back to him as she kicked off her shoes, eased down her stockings, unclipped her bra and then stepped out of her knickers.

He was utterly silent, though she could feel him watching her. It made her heart race.

She reached for the nightgown. The white silk lace was sheer all the way to the hem and it hid nothing. It was designed purely to enflame.

Isla put it over her head, shivering as the cool material slid down over her skin. She adjusted the straps a little and then paused to gather her courage.

She was going to take what she wanted. And she wanted this. She wanted her wedding night and she wanted it with Orion.

Slowly, she turned around.

Orion had thought it would be easy to wait until his new wife made a decision about his offer of a wedding night. It had no doubt been a mistake to offer it in the first place, but that nightgown had decided him.

It was an opportunity.

He’d known she wanted him. He’d tasted her hunger in her kiss, and that sexy little nightgown had definitely been chosen with passion in mind. Why couldn’t she experience some of that passion with him?

So he’d put the offer out there to see what she did with it.

He’d expected her to turn him down immediately and when she hadn’t, he couldn’t stop himself from stalking over to her. He’d wanted to see what was going on in that pretty head of hers, wanted to see the sparks in her deep blue eyes, and sure enough they’d been there.

Perhaps it had been unwise of him to let her know how much she’d fascinated him that day in the National Gallery, but when she’d asked him directly why he’d married her, he hadn’t been able to lie to her.

It wasn’t as if he was confessing to a lifelong passion, after all. Merely a fascination that he would soon deal with. A fascination he would take apart to see how it worked and he’d then get rid of it.

He hadn’t thought he’d be impatient for an answer to his wedding night offer. He hadn’t thought it would matter to him. Yet he’d found himself unable to stop touching her, taking the pins from her hair and running his fingers through all the soft golden curls. Watching her eyes darken as they looked up into his and the pulse at the base of her throat race.

Oh, yes, she wanted him, that was undeniable.

Which had then made her request to stop touching her so very disappointing.

In fact, he’d been surprised by how disappointed he was. She might want him, but he hadn’t realised the full extent of his own hunger for her.

He’d told himself it didn’t matter, that he didn’t care, and then she’d picked up that damn nightgown, gone over to the bed and laid it down. Then she’d turned her back on him and requested help with her zip.

Apparently, she wasn’t saying no after all.

Something savage had filled him in that moment, triumph and satisfaction and hunger all mixed into one. The intensity of it had disturbed him since he reserved all his passions for the boardroom not the bedroom.

He enjoyed sex but he never lost himself to it. He couldn’t afford to. His control over himself, both emotionally and physically, was vital and he kept himself in hand at all times. Besides, sex simply wasn’t important enough to him to be worth the risk of an unwanted pregnancy.

Apparently, though, all of that didn’t matter as he slowly undid the zip on Isla’s dress and all that smooth, pale porcelain skin came into view. Watching as her wedding dress slipped slowly from her, revealing rounded thighs, generous hips and a small waist.

And all his control was worth nothing because the only thing he could think about was grabbing her by those luscious hips and simply flinging her on the bed.

Covering herself with the nightgown didn’t help and when she finally turned around to face him, he knew the battle with himself and his control was lost.

Because he’d never seen anything so delicious in all his life.

The nightgown clung, revealing the gorgeous curves of her breasts and the soft pink of her nipples visible through the lace. The curls between her thighs were visible too and they were as golden as the hair on her head.

Her chin had lifted, her shoulders tensed, and her gaze when it met his was defiant, though what she was defiant about he didn’t know, because there was nothing about her that wasn’t completely and utterly delicious. And he wanted her to know that, so he let his hunger show in his eyes.

Something ignited in her then, a blaze of heat flushing her cheeks, making her glow, and in that moment, he knew something true: she was his painting. She was hisStarry Night. All curves and movement and luminous colours. Cream and gold and pink and the deep dark blue of her eyes. She came alive the way she had that night at the gallery as she’d explained that painting to him. Startlingly lovely. Luminous.

---